


there's blood on your lies

by frogchamp (ediblesunshine25)



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Ballroom Dancing, Champagne, Character Death, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Sorry, Kinda, Knives, M/M, Pet Names, Songfic, Tags Are Hard, Tension, also lots of tension, barely edited and not beta read, dream and george rlly speedrunning their relationship in this huh, dream's love language is touch rip, ended up being a sort of outlet for intrusive thoughts lmao, hm interesting tag, i do not know what i'm doing, i just think knives are cool okay?, i promise nobody important dies, it's not as bad as it sounds, lapslock, lots of pet names, love the capitalization, love u angel, no beta since i am a coward, nothing about the way they interact in this is healthy and i want to emphasize that, please someone help george he shouldn't be simping for a murderer, so many tags why, somehow there is no tag for the song feeling good by michael buble, the tension is resolved pog??, this got kind of out of hand, this took far longer to write than i wanted it to, vent fic, which i literally know nothing about sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:01:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28762992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ediblesunshine25/pseuds/frogchamp
Summary: “sweet dreams,” he says, tone honey-sweet but grin manic. he decides to leave the knife in and watches the body slump to the floor. five more to go.dream pulls another knife from the inside of his suit jacket, where four others are kept, and gazes across the ballroom for his next target. the five remaining party attendants cower in corners, eyes flicking from body to body strewn on the floor. the three musicians are in the same place they’d been the whole party.he notes the stone pillars surrounding the perimeter of the room, one every fifty feet or so, and his eyes catch on a man sitting against the base of a pillar not too far from where dream stands now. he twirls the knife’s hilt and easily finds the predictable glint of fear in the man’s eyes.--based off of dream's smp character and a wonderful idea a friend had, the lowercase is intended
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 88
Collections: Completed stories I've read





	there's blood on your lies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [clemenzine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clemenzine/gifts).



> heyo angel!! your gay lil ideas are my favorite and i just had to get this out of my system- it actually really helped with my writer's block, and was generally just a joy to write! this is dedicated to the idea dump channel of the h/w discord (hello lovely people) and more specifically you, your ideas are so amazing and i can't get enough. your little thought process word vomit paragraphs are the best, and the more polished snippets are spectacular. your art is also amazing! i could ramble about your talent forever, so i hope this oneshot is an appropriate representation of how much i love your brain!
> 
> if you're one of my irls that i've for some reason given my ao3 to: you do not see this :]
> 
> TW/CWs: knives, death (not very graphic but beware), alcohol. proceed with caution
> 
> the way dream behaves in this is heavily centered around his smp character, and the way george behaves is. not very realistic for a man whose life is being threatened. suspend ur disbelief please <3
> 
> you may have seen this in the tags but this also unintentionally turned into a vent fic of sorts, just a way of coping with intrusive thoughts, writing is a good outlet for me
> 
> title from AURORA's "Running With The Wolves Tonight," the song has no real significance and i just thought that particular line fit. also: angel, your original idea involved "Feeling Good" by Michael Bublé, and [this playlist (i didn't make it)](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6YSwCgkwA92P8oyqLPwBuN) not only has that song on it but others that definitely fit the mood! give it a listen or not, just thought i might include it idk
> 
> to clarify: this takes place irl, no minecraft mechanics and nothing really to do with the smp, dream in this is just based on his smp character! sorry if i sound like a broken record, just don't want any confusion
> 
> enjoy!

“sweet dreams,” he says, tone honey-sweet but grin manic. he decides to leave the knife in and watches the body slump to the floor. five more to go.

dream pulls another knife from the inside of his suit jacket, where four others are kept, and gazes across the ballroom for his next target. the five remaining party attendants cower in corners, eyes flicking from body to body strewn on the floor. the three musicians are in the same place they’d been the whole party.

he notes the stone pillars surrounding the perimeter of the room, one every fifty feet or so, and his eyes catch on a man sitting against the base of a pillar not too far from where dream stands now. he twirls the knife’s hilt and easily finds the predictable glint of fear in the man’s eyes.

dream looks at the three people on a dais at the front of the ballroom. a cellist, pianist, and violinist. perfect.

(the music had actually been quite nice to listen to as he observed the whirling steps of dancers from his position in the shadows of the grand hall. the dancing had swelled in sync with the swoops of the music, and all of the people attending the party were awfully beautiful. what a shame he’d have to kill them all.)

“why, come on now, keep playing!” dream calls to the musicians. “i’m saving the three of you for last, i want to enjoy your talent until it’s no longer necessary to me.”

they don’t move.

dream lifts the blade in their direction. they each flinch, but hands return to instruments and the music picks back up. he counts the beats. one, two, three, one, two, three, one, two, three, one, two, three. another waltz, then. he skips in time with the music.

the man he’d set his eyes on earlier has pulled his knees to his chest, face buried in his hands, sniffling.

“hello,” dream greets warmly.

“you- you sadistic bastard. what- why the fuck would you do this?” the man whispers. an accent, adorable!

dream adjusts his mask. “what do you mean?” his voice sounds innocent, fake.

“the fuck- what do you think i mean? you’re taking pleasure in taking lives!” the man’s voice cracks. “is that it? do you- do you get off on this?”

dream doesn’t respond. instead, he steps forward and twists his hand into the man’s shirt to bring him to his feet.

“you’re so short,” he coos. “what’s your name, love?”

the man tries to jerk away from him. “why? what?”

dream smirks. “it feels awfully impersonal to not even know the name of the one person i’m sparing out of over fifty.” he watches the realization sink into the man’s skin. it seems to alarm him more than relieve him.

“you’re not going to hurt me because- why?”

“sweetheart, i never said i wouldn’t hurt you.” dream wedges the tip of the knife under the man’s chin and takes pride in the way his chest rises and falls with a trembling breath. “just that i wouldn’t kill you. but if you keep asking these  _ fucking questions _ , i just might!”

dream likes the way his voice remains cheery, even with undertones of malice. it’s something he’s worked hard to perfect.

he thinks he can spot tears welling up in the man’s eyes. “y- you’re a psychopath, you know that? what the fuck is wrong with you? all these-”

dream presses a finger to the man’s lips. “ah, ah, ah. tell me your name, i might let you talk to me.” he removes the finger and observes another shuddering breath. the man is gorgeous like this.

“i- george. my name is george.” he ( _ george _ ) manages. dream tucks the stiletto back into the inside of his suit jacket. he won’t be needing it until later. “what are you… going to do to me?” george’s voice gives away the absolute terror he must be feeling. dream has never adored power more.

“you’ll find out.”

the music, forgotten until now, rises swiftly. dream smiles. “let’s dance.”

george allows himself to be tugged to the middle of the ballroom. dream’s hand moves from his collar to his hip, and the other clasps george’s own. dream takes the first step. they’re off.

he counts the steps quietly in george’s ear. he spins george out, reels him back in. his vice grip on george’s hand doesn’t let up. their chests heave against each other. the synchronization of their feet and the clack of their shoes on the polished floor are perfect. dream tucks his head above george’s, pulling him even closer.

the musicians are no longer playing a waltz, long having transitioned into other dances. he listens to the resounding notes of the cello, the quick fluttering of the violin, the piano’s deep, dramatic chords. the trio is talented.

dream spins george over to a table, where abandoned flutes of champagne sit in front of plates full of cold food. 

“hungry, baby?” dream pulls out a chair and gestures for george to sit down.

“n- not particularly, no,” george laughs nervously. dream lays a hand at the small of his back and gently guides him into the chair. he pulls one out for himself and sits down.

“enjoying the party?” dream maintains the charade, smiling sweetly at george.

“what are you playing at?” george’s voice is flat. “just get it over with, no need for the-” he makes a motion with his hands, “-theatrics,” he huffs.

dream rests his hand on the side of george’s pretty face. “why, come on now,” he repeats sharply. “you’ll do as i say, won’t you? be good for me?” he offers george a twisted grin.

george shivers. “th- why would you say that, i’m not some.. some servant of yours to order around.”

“but you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” dream murmurs. “you’ve been so excellent at listening to me so far. you like the power i hold over you.”

“s- stop, i can’t even see your face, that’s not fair.”

“would you like my name instead?” dream is playing a dangerous game, one he knows he can win.

george sighs. “better than nothing.”

“you’re not getting either, but to you, i’m dream.” he says.

“you want me to call you dream? you’re more like a nightmare.” george scoffs.

“that’s a really bad joke. i might have to kill you.” dream reaches for the inside of his suit jacket again and watches george freeze. somehow, he’s not picked up on the light tone disguising his words. dream thinks that george must’ve still been scared enough that he ignored context in favor of the words themselves.

“you’re actually quite dumb, you know that?” dream leans back in his chair. “i promise i won’t kill you, not unless i see a clear reason to.”

the tense knot of george’s shoulders loosens. “christ, i can never tell.”

“that’s the point.” dream stands up abruptly.

george looks up at him, rich brown eyes shining in the light of the ballroom. “going somewhere? do you want to dance again?”

“i want you to cover your eyes and ears and go wait over there.” dream points to the doors leading out into the foyer of the huge house they stood in.

“dream, please, spare them.” george’s lips tug into a frown. dream can’t help but feel he’s disappointing george. “they’re not worth your time, you’ve already had your fun, now you have me, what’s the point?”

george so blatantly offering himself as a reason not to kill the remaining people is what makes up dream’s mind.

“seven more people’s blood on my hands won’t make a difference.” dream looks out at the ballroom. his kills are always clean- no extra blood where it shouldn’t be. he rarely ever hits arteries or veins unless he wants the person to suffer. he brought so many stiletto blades to this event- strapped to his forearms and calves, tucked into the seams of his clothing, sewn into the inside of his suit jacket. he has exactly eight left.

“don’t kill them.” george is starting to take on a pleading tone. “for me. do it for me, i’ll be good if you let them live.”

“fine, i won’t.” dream tugs george back to his feet. “let’s dance one more time.”

the music is slow, like dripping honey, and the gentle drag of bows against strings makes dream feel a little more welcoming than he was when he first arrived at this party. the piano’s trilling notes are soft. they sway, pressed chest to chest, george’s face resting against dream’s collarbone.

dream closes his eyes and lives.

he listens to the music, he feels the warmth of george’s hands around his waist, he can detect the woodsy hints of george’s cologne. maybe he  _ won’t _ kill the rest of the people. he doesn’t know.

it’s so tricky to make decisions like these, with a pretty boy in your arms and eight people’s lives hanging in the balance. dream doesn’t want to disappoint george, but he can’t leave the rest of the party’s attendants alive to spread more information about him. one of the primary reasons he hasn’t been caught yet, not just because of his stealth and wits, is that he never leaves anyone alive. his gloves are never the same leather, his suits are never the same linen, his shoes are never the same size. but most importantly, when he plans a massacre, he plans to leave only bodies.

he hates the feeling of dried blood underneath his fingernails.

george has gone tense again in his arms, and dream pulls back from where their arms connect their bodies.

“what’s wrong?” dream’s tone is too soft. “thinking about how you’re enamored with a psychopath you just met?” there, fixed.

george lets out a little laugh. “just thinking about how you could kill me if you really wanted to, but here we are, dancing.” dream tilts george’s head up.

“i promised. only assholes go back on their promises.”

“yeah, and apparently only psychopaths kill forty-five people, so what does that make you?” george snorts.

“georgie baby, don’t you want to be good for me?” dream pulls george ever closer. “don’t you want to do what i say? if killing people isn’t a horrible enough thing to turn you away from me, i think we’ll have to find something that does.”

george tears himself from dream. “st- stop, don’t fucking call me georgie. and don’t push your luck, i’ve been attracted to people much worse than you.”

“aha, so you finally admit you  _ are _ attracted to me.” dream grins down at him. george’s lips are pressed into a thin line and his brow is furrowed with frustration. “you’re cute.”

george stands a few feet away from dream. “are you going to keep doing this?”

“doing what?” dream pouts.

“you know- ugh.” george pauses, evidently trying to put together thoughts. “you’re just trying to get at me, to get under my skin.”

“and it’s working.” he sets a hand on george’s shoulder and leans in, mouth next to his ear. “give in.”

“why should i?” george breathes. dream’s hand moves for his suit jacket. he tugs out his nice stiletto, the one with the ivory handle that he always brings and never uses. it’s a folding knife, rather small, one he slipped into his pocket in an antique store and cleaned and has carried ever since. dream slides open the blade with one hand.

he takes a step forward, right in front of george, bodies as close as when they were dancing.

“because if you don’t,” dream says, “i’ll make you.” the tip of the knife just barely bites into george’s neck. 

george’s breath is shallow, his chest is barely moving where it’s in contact with dream’s. “-thought you said you wouldn’t kill me.” he chokes out.

“mm, i did promise, but i’m still going to hurt you.” dream whispers, tone velvety and terrifying. “you thought you could use yourself as a bargaining chip, make me not finish these people off. you should know better by now.”

“you’re-” george gasps, the knife digging into his throat a little more. “you’re no better than i thought. just a fucking murderer.”

“aw, georgie, tell me i mean more to you than  _ that _ ,” dream chides. “at least say i’m a good murderer.”

“what’s the threshold for a good murderer? because the best murderer, in my opinion, is no murderer.” george says, the sneer on his face evident even though dream can’t see it. “a good murderer is one fallen prey to their own habits. a good murderer is one fallen prey to death.”

“so you’re saying you want me to die before i kill you?” dream tilts his head quizzically.

“you’re twisting my words,” george groans. “i’m saying that killing countless people doesn’t make you  _ good _ .”

“right, right.” dream nods his head. “but potentially sacrificing yourself so i don’t kill the rest of these people makes you good?”

“stop fucking- reaching into what i say. you know perfectly well that none of that was what i meant. and i wasn’t sacrificing myself, you still aren’t going to kill me.”

dream pushes the point of the knife slightly further into george’s neck. “you don’t know that for sure.”

(dream does, though, because the knife is a few centimeters away from george’s left carotid artery and its placement is intentional. he doesn’t let it slip in his hand.)

“d- don’t kill me, you promised.” george pleads. “dream, don’t kill me. we can- we can keep dancing! we can- we can do anything, i can do anything, please don’t kill me.”

“there you go.” the knife leaves george’s neck. “i bet you liked that, my complete power over you. the adrenaline must feel nice.”

george laughs drily. “i think that’s you, dream. you’re the one who likes it.”

“maybe.” dream shrugs. he sets the knife down on the table, extending his hand to george, who takes it reluctantly.

he tugs him along, not stopping in the middle of the ballroom. “wait out there.” george looks between the door and dream. 

dream pulls it open and shoves george into the hall residing beyond.

“be patient, hon, i won’t be long.” the door shuts.

dream does make quick work of the people left. instead of a stiletto, he uses the ka-bar knife he somehow found on ebay, glad for the rag he carries to clean it between people. dream’s knives are his most precious possessions, even though he hasn’t bought a single one. 

he lets the cellist and violinist pack away their respective instruments and the pianist close the lid of the piano before killing them. small kindnesses. at least most of the people have enough respect for george, whose ear is probably pressed against the door, to not make more than a muffled yell as they die.

he wishes each person a good night and sweet dreams.

dream tucks the ka-bar back into its sheath, which he keeps in his hand instead of trying to hide it. 

he doesn’t want to drink lukewarm champagne, and he conveniently locates a cooler with chilled bottles. dream stabs the clipped point of his ka-bar into the cork, pulling it out. he sips straight from the bottle.

his hands are full, with the champagne and the knife, so he has to toe the door open before george realizes and props it open.

“all done.” dream spreads his arms wide, grinning.

george peers behind him, confirming that no one is left alive. he stares up at dream. “you were serious,” he says shakily.

“of course, doll, i don’t go back on my promises. psychopath, not an asshole, remember?” he sips more of the champagne. it’s the good stuff, but then again, he wouldn’t expect a party of this caliber to have shitty drinks.

george sits down against the wall and runs his hands through his hair. his eyes are wide and his mouth hangs open. george covers it with a hand, tilting his head back so it hits the wall.

“still- still hasn’t sunk in yet that you killed,” george whispers against his hand, “what, fifty people?”

“no, fifty-two,” dream says scornfully. “would’ve been fifty-three.”

george fully stiffens at that, eyes pointed away from dream and practically burning a hole into the floor. dream doesn’t like to play with his food, but there’s something so  _ fun _ about how transparent george is, how dream can pull reactions from him so easily.

“this isn’t how i expected to spend my night, i must admit.” george’s words emerge muffled from where his face is now buried in his knees. “you don’t really want to kill me. do you?”

dream makes a noise of indifference.

“pfft, you don’t. you’re too weak.”

“i’m the-” dream wheezes, “-the one with the knives, you don’t want to be-” he cuts himself off again. “you don’t want to be teasing me, making fun of me, whatever, when i literally  _ can _ kill you.”

“somehow,” george sighs, “i don’t think you will. you’ve had so many chances to, yet you haven’t taken one of them. you like me too much.”

dream shoots him a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows. “do i, now?”

george laughs once, quietly.

“why do you wear that mask?” the question sounds genuine. “if you kill everyone except for the occasional person you find attractive, why would it matter whether or not they see your face?”

dream considers how to respond. he honestly doesn’t know why he still wears the mask. it was originally a paper plate with a smiley face drawn on in sharpie, something he cobbled together in an effort to look more intimidating near the beginning of his career, but he thinks he’s made enough of a reputation for himself at this point that he doesn’t need it.

“looks cool.” he shrugs.

“you’re not actually going to answer any of the questions i ask, are you.” george sniffs.

“nope.”

a large mirror hangs on the wall and dream studies his reflection. the suit, all black except for a neon green tie, had cost him more than he cared to admit. at this point, it’s been a few hours since the party began, but he’s proud to find nothing out of place. george looks much worse for wear, hair mussed and clothes beginning to wrinkle. he’s still awfully pretty, though.

dream moves to sit next to george against the wall but is stopped by a raised hand. “are you going to let me go or are you going to keep… entertaining yourself?” george says flatly.

“hmm, i’m not sure. how will you get back home? do i need to drive you?” dream props his chin up on his hand.

“i can- i’ll call an uber or something.” george pulls his phone from his pocket, tapping away.

they sit in almost-awkward silence.

dream thinks this is perhaps one of the oddest turnouts of tonight. he’d had the foresight to plan several different escape routes and calculate all possible outcomes of what he was going to do, but sparing a person? sitting with said person while they ordered a car to come pick them up from what could be considered a crime scene? odd.

very odd.

(but george is so strange, so separate, so fascinating, and dream wants to spend the rest of the night pulling those visceral reactions from him.)

dream sips more of the champagne and holds the bottle out in an offer to george. george takes a few sips of his own and gives it back to dream. the silence stretching between them somehow still hasn’t snapped, and dream’s leg begins to bounce with the unspoken words floating in the air.

“george?” george hums.

“what were you doing here tonight?” 

george pauses.

“oh,” he says, surprised. “i was here ‘cause of- work obligations, i guess you could call it. the gala was a sort of fundraiser, for p- for the company i work at. why?”

“no reason, just curious.”

the silence falls back over them like a blanket and dream wants to run away. he’s supposed to be  _ smooth _ , he’s supposed to be collected and cool and certainly not- making small talk with a man he would’ve killed tonight if not for introducing himself and getting caught in the way george’s eyes sparkled with fear in the chandelier light.

dream thinks about unsheathing his ka-bar to clean his fingernails. a show of intimidation, but an effective one.

so he does, thumbing the clip before carefully wedging it underneath the tip of each of his nails in turn. dream has to stop himself from looking over at george (the  _ only _ reason he’s doing this) and searching out the glint of unease.

he puts the knife away again, sparing a glance in george’s direction. george seems bored, but the flick of his fingers on his legs gives him away. dream feels a secretive little smile rise onto his face.

they sit. dream’s eyes flick around to every possible thing in the foyer, stretching wide and impossibly long to the huge doors and windows at the front of the manor. he and george seem tucked into a corner, though they’re more exposed than they are hidden. he picks at his calluses.

the silence is fucking unbearable.

“georgie.” dream regrets how soft the nickname becomes in his mouth. “tell me about yourself.”

“like what?” george lifts his head up.

“anything, your favorite color or food, your friends, what you like to do in your spare time.” dream lists quietly, the words still managing to echo slightly. his gaze is fixed intently on the bit of wallpaper above george’s head. 

“i guess i like the color blue. it’s one of the only ones i can actually see, i’m colorblind. i don’t really have a favorite food, the dinner here was nice, though. i mostly keep to myself, i have a few uni friends i still keep in touch with. there are some online people i’ve known for most of my life. in my spare time i- please don’t laugh at me, i code stuff outside of things for work and i, uh, play minecraft. i’ve been coding plugins for it for a while, those online friends i mentioned are people i used to play with all the time. they—the plugins, i mean—are easy and pretty fun to test. another thing i do in my spare time is try to keep my cat away from all the houseplants. i normally don’t get ones that are poisonous, but there’s this big snake plant i love that my cat always goes for. i actually have this mesh-type material up around it to try to prevent it from being eaten.” 

dream lets his eyes close and listens to george ramble. his voice and lilting accent are so nice to listen to, and he doesn’t notice that george has trailed off until the silence begins to press back in. he opens his eyes again to find george staring at him. it takes george a bit before he realizes that dream is looking back at him and then dream pointedly breaks eye contact.

“your life sounds nice. peaceful,” he comments.

“yeah,” george laughs, “i assume yours is wildly different.”

dream hums in affirmation and doesn’t elaborate.

“you did good, by the way. you listened to me. just like i knew you would.” he drawls, voice dripping in power and promises.

“yeah,” george repeats breathily.

their eyes are locked on each other, and dream wants to take george’s jaw in his hand and press their lips together. but he knows that’s what george wants too, so he can’t do it quite yet. instead, he anchors his fingers in george’s hair.

dream smirks. “ _ baby. _ you’ll keep listening to me, right?”

he watches a shiver travel down george’s spine. 

“mhm.”

“good.”

and then dream lets go of george’s hair and leans back against the wall. he sighs. george already sounds so willing, all he wants to do is remove his mask and kiss him, but he has to wait.

“are you- are you going to do anything?” george mumbles, timid.

“depends.”

george groans.

“hey, don’t be like that. come on, sugar, your car will be here soon and then you’ll be gone. cooperate.” dream says and takes one of george’s hands in his own, rubbing circles over the knuckles.

“i will, don’t worry.” george fiddles with his cufflinks, which are in the shape of little gears. kind of cute.

dream reaches behind his head for the clasp and presses. a click, then another, then the mask tumbles into his lap and george is staring again, openmouthed.

“you’re-” george stutters. “there’s- you have freckles.”

“indeed.” dream smiles, this time for george to see. 

george smiles too, and dream becomes painfully more aware of the knives in his suit jacket and his ka-bar, sitting on the floor between them. he really doesn’t want to do this. george is so pretty, so refreshing, but it’s everyone or no one and all of the people except george are dead.

a pained grimace, then dream pushes himself to his feet. 

“when does your uber get here?”

george checks his phone. “uhhhh, in about seven minutes, give or take.”

“perfect.” dream pulls george to his feet too, for what must be the third or fourth time that night, and leans down to envelop george in a kiss.

george stiffens before melting into the embrace, and dream thinks that george’s lips are impossibly soft and george is impossibly small and that this man has a dangerous hold on his heart. where they were before walking across a tightrope above an abyss, they now fall into the darkness.

but they’re in each other’s arms, and when they crash at the bottom at least they’ll be together.

**Author's Note:**

> me: [tries to write something short]  
> my brain: dialogue go brr, make it over 4k >:)
> 
> lemme know if you enjoyed or if you spot a typo, comments are a huge motivator!
> 
> shoutout to how i kept typing "geroge" on my computer and "heorhe" on my phone, my brain moves too fast and my hands can't keep up lmao


End file.
